


felix, your virtual assistant !

by sapphskies



Series: robot lix, oblivious seungmin, and his tired ex ! [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: AI is scary folks, Artificial Intelligence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sad Ending, but the angst is heavy so beware, he is pocket-sized, kind of turns into remy from ratatouille for a bit, many astronomical metaphors, minho is an artist, robot felix, semi-horror (only towards the end), wonpil is a great brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphskies/pseuds/sapphskies
Summary: “˘ᵕ˘”『 Ever since Minho moved out of their shared apartment following a harsh break up, Seungmin finds it increasingly harder to perform basic tasks. Amidst a short visit from his older brother, as well as a recommendation that seungmin purchase a state of the art ‘robot friend’ or more realistically; a virtual assistant that would provide its person’s life with a semblance of hope while maintaining its distance where necessary. 』
Relationships: Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: robot lix, oblivious seungmin, and his tired ex ! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205435
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	felix, your virtual assistant !

•• ◛ ••

Time can barely be traced back to standstill once Seungmin has efficiently taken to zoning back into physical reality. A physical reality that doesn’t quite welcome him so readily upon slapping waves of dilapidated words over his sensitive worth. Words that, despite being self-curated, don’t quite work to ease a pain he hasn’t even worked to accept, as of yet.

Another drafty silence. Seungmin sighs, unsuccessful in his attempts at puffing away the mound of emotions pooling into his skull, all at once.

Emotions were complex, difficult to maintain, a nuisance at best. So, who was Seungmin to acknowledge the withstanding complexities that barely waver from sight, when it’d been too easy to deny their existence in the first place.

Instead, he allocates time alone. Seungmin time, which is best spent in front of a television screen displaying ‘calming’ flames, that had otherwise felt elusive to the fiery, fleeting blazes brimming within his chest.

Seungmin had broken up with Minho. He had broken up with him. So, through brief logistics, he’d easily deduced that he was not, in fact, heartbroken. Seungmin was alright, and that was that.

It’s him against a mountain of doubts seemingly shriveled up into tattered ashes once within vicinity of the artificial flames displayed in front of him. Still, he’s alright.

As a matter of fact, he’s still alright whenever he pops in another ready-made meal into his old microwave, and he’s alright whenever it comes out burnt, and he’s alright whenever he manages to spill the scorching-hot green tea he’d been taking hesitant sips from over his lap, and subsequently onto a firm spot on his once, untainted beige couch. 

Somehow, and he’s still unsure how or why, his older brother does not seem to share this train of thought with him. It’s within Seungmin’s firm belief that it’s simply due to the fact that Wonpil leads a perfect life, maintains firm relationships with the perfect friends, and is the perfect poster child for any parent to boast about. No, Seungmin is not jealous, or angry, or anguished, or stubborn. 

Seungmin is alright.

‘No, you’re not.’ 

No, Seungmin is alright, but he’s certainly getting tired of maintaining an unyielding clasp over the door while his older brother stayed persistent in his attempt at weaseling in through the small crack.

‘Go away! I’m watching my favorite show.’

Wonpil’s eyes squint curiously, and despite Seungmin’s attempts to block his vision, he can clearly catch sight of the 3 hour long YouTube video of crackling fire being displayed on the large screen.

‘You do realize this just gives me more leverage, don’t you?’ Despite his words, Wonpil feels a reluctant air of fret fall over his tense shoulders. Until, a light bulb flashes its shine atop his neat head of hair - which is important to draw attention to, as it serves as a conspicuous contrast to the mess of straggled hair atop Seungmin’s.

Wonpil keels over, attempting to sound out a convincing wince whilst maintaining a hold over the hand that's been keeping the door propped open.

‘Shit, sorry, are you alright?’

Seizing his curated chance, Wonpil takes advantage of Seungmin’s distraction and quickly shuffles in before the younger can even find the chance to upheave a wounded gasp. He does, eventually, when they both hear the creaky door sound out a short ‘click’ upon closing, and then there’s silence while Wonpil kicks his shoes off and directs a deeply questioning glance back at the TV. He’d definitively been aware of the frown overtaking Seungmin’s face, trailing from his eyebrows to his lips, a derelict anguish falling over his sluggish shoulders. Yet still, his brother seems to make the sentient decision to ignore so, instead making rounds past the room and to his kitchen, as if coming over as a health inspector.

‘What are you even here for? I told you i’m fine!’

Again, Seungmin’s own words do not reflect well in his own favor upon the confounding placement of yet more irony shielded by Wonpil’s perfect presence. The older boy sighs pointedly from where he’s standing behind Seungmin’s kitchen island ‘Why does it smell like something’s burning?’

‘Something did.’

‘Seungmin-,’ The boy sounds almost offended, like none of the advice he’d directed his way that past month had ever entered the confines of Seungmin’s mind. Because that was the case. Because Seungmin didn’t need advice; only helpless people needed advice.

‘I was just,’ Seungmin starts, stretching his arms out as a means of avoiding his brother’s gaze; one that somehow made Seungmin feel both regretful and irksome.

‘t-trying a new recipe. And it _kind of_ came out a _little_ burnt.’

Again, there’s a pause, its silence traipsing over so much tension that the words 'uncomfortably quiet’ do not do it justice. Then, Wonpil proceeds to direct a short glance towards the scratchy mini oven to his right, just barely catching how Seungmin’s breath goes audibly patchy while he springs it open with one, big forward motion.

Along with his greatest misfortunes and heightened loss of self-worth, pours out the stink of charred food and the sorrowful sight of _black_...unidentifiable to the average human eye, meal. 

‘A little.’ Wonpil squints, attempting to discern the contents before him without catching too strong of a whiff, lest it take him out ‘I can’t even tell what this could possibly have been before it was brutally murdered.’

‘Chicken,’ The sheepish boy explains ashamedly, a red planted over his obscured visage ‘so it was already dead.’

‘You killed it a second time.’ Wonpil finally closes the oven’s window to smokey, pungent fumes that only served to remind Seungmin of how badly he’d been handling his current dilemmas. 

Dilemmas like cooking, that is. Decidedly not the possibility that he could’ve been severely crushed by a break up that left his heart traveling past orbits whose specks of sparkling celestial bodies would ensure its final destruction. Yep, that wasn’t the case at all.

Yes, cooking, maybe cleaning, showering, laundry, sleeping, and so on. Regular dilemmas any ordinary, functioning human being faces.

Still, Wonpil seems intent on pointing out every single facet of these issues, as if to pinpoint the crux of them towards that of Minho's sudden disappearance from their previously shared apartment. No, it’s not like it’d felt excruciatingly empty without his presence, nor did it particularly require him to derive the strength to even intonate that it’d only been ‘Seungmin’s apartment’, and that the small, colored in plaque reading ‘2min’s space’ had been plucked off their door along with Minho and most of his belongings. Most of the tenacious, textural traces of his undying passion, all gone.

Alright, perhaps Seungmin hadn’t been handling the breakup well because he’d missed Minho. Because it’d felt wrong curling up within mounds of heavy sheets, gripping onto a pillow that didn’t feel nearly as soft as Minho’s dozing figure. Not nearly as warm as the sight of his fluttering strands of hair falling over downcast eyelashes, nor the brush of their night light’s faint hue highlighting pockets of glimmering dissonance within his pretty features, nor the regal buoyancy of assuredness that their life would finally find security within the arms of love and her strange, multi-dimensional presence.

What a short-lived notion that had become.

But Seungmin wasn’t allowed to feel bad, because…

‘I know you really don’t want to talk about your feelings with me, but I hope you know that it’s completely valid to ask for help. A breakup following a series relationship isn’t easy on any party.’ 

There, it had begun. After Wonpil’s preliminary investigation, which appeared in the form of a swift scan over the very limited amount of rooms in the apartment with the sole intent of pointing out the uncharacteristic disarray Seungmin had been living around for weeks. The next part came in the form of a tight-lipped lecture and, most likely, a fake promise from Seungmin’s end that he’d consider the possibility that it was ok not to be ok under such complicated circumstances.

Or, at least, that was what he had hoped for during a time in which every mundane task felt like hefty work and every, concise issue served as the framework for the overarching confoundment that was Seungmin’s mind and the ways in which it tormented him.

‘Seungmin! Are you even listening?’ It’s only then that Seungmin allows his gaze to travel away from the inducingly tantalizing fog that takes him over upon intent sight of the flames overtaking his, otherwise, pitch black screen. Its pixelated form does not manage to smudge into his mind as one of artificial presence, if only for the fact that his own head seems to be carving its sudden, fictitious increase in height through veracity of its very bite.

Wonpil turns it off.

‘Seungmin,’ His tone shifts into one of the kind of sorrow that Seungmin never liked to hear from people, especially those whose opinions mattered. A tone slithered with pity over concealed despondency. So, he doesn’t look back at his brother, even as he feels this tone translate into his peering eyes. He didn’t like it, didn’t like feeling and appearing so vulnerable, not when he’d have to keep a strong head and a straight face just to get past yet another colossal pattern of events that would eventually lead to the comprising of a single day.

A single day that stretched past horizons, that forced him to endure every second with atrophic neglect for how his brain always jumps at the sensation of trickling, dangerous emotion. It contrasted greatly from his insatiable need to filter out its contents, to translate their intricacies into anger.

‘You can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep shutting me out, I won’t allow it.’ 

Again, as it always does, Seungmin pushes down the twanging guilt, the putrid self-hatred that rattles his ribcage and tightens his throat. He’d prefer to obscure them through indignation, more than anything, to forget that they ever existed and instilled themselves within his steadfast insecurities.

‘You won’t allow it?!’ He trails on amidst the misconstrued fury blocking away any allowance to freely mourn ‘Is this my wonderful big brother speaking, or is this mom speaking through you?’

Wonpil pauses then, and now that Seungmin has landed one, good look at him, it becomes increasingly difficult to bury away the waver that begs to hinder his speech.

‘You know she’s just looking out for you. She’s worried, and so am I.’

‘No, no, don’t say that. She worries for _you_. She tries to fix _me_ , because somehow I’ve always managed to undermine her expectations.’ Seungmin can’t seem to find the place within him that could possibly calm the sudden spike in his nerves, the sudden desire to vent over all of the confounding realizations he’d managed to come to in the past few weeks alone, building off of an uneasy tension and neglect that had always sat within his sensitive heart.

‘Seungmin, please, don’t say that-,’

‘No, seriously, you can’t counter that!’ Seungmin’s gaze doesn’t turn, nor does his stance, nor does he even fidget the slightest, but there’s still a heightened spite woven around his tongue that brims from the deepest point in his chest, accumulated over years of neglect, neglect, over neglect.

‘Because why would she worry for someone she’s already lost hope for, right? Why would she worry for someone she’d just like to find any placement of pride within the existence of? Why would she, when I don’t have a stable life plan like you do, when my apartment isn’t as ravishing as yours, when everything about me screams that I’m the underwhelming younger brother?’

Still, Seungmin barely fidgets, barely shifts, barely turns his gaze away from where it’s set over Wonpil’s own astonished features. Yet, there’s a trickling of something cold forming salty residue down his flaming cheeks, over the drying skin of his lips. Unkissable, unloved, untouched. 

The traffic in his head is so overwhelming that he doesn’t feel the beginnings of the consequences of flooding sensations totalling the grief he’d been neglecting. So overwhelming that those sensations don’t convert into blotchy sobs and raking shivers until he feels his blurring vision overtaken by the blue of Wonpil’s sweater, his body falling sluggish and immobile under his brother’s tightening hold.

Echoing grief reverberates over the walls of the apartment; silence does not welcome Seungmin anymore.

  * ••



The midnight hour approaches steadily, creeping over a solemn figure, wrapped up in a safety net formulated by smooth sheets and a light grip over a star-speckled mug. The mug had been with him for years, definitively ridden with overuse, clear in how the constellations he’d drawn to connect its stars with silver sharpie had begun to fade. Metaphorically ironic, he thinks, how he’d only noticed so when Minho had moved out with his own favorite mug in tow.

No, it hadn’t dawned on him just how horrific the ordeal had become, to shatter someone’s heart when they’d been holding your figure in the dark as means of finding security, when their eyes had already been close to falling completely shut until you utter the contrite phrase:

_‘I think we need to break up.’_

And then comes the moving-out-phase. Then comes the tightening grip of reality creeping over every corner ridden with silence. Minho had been at the apartment for a matter of two full days until he finally lifted his bags and slammed the door behind him before Seungmin could even get the chance to scramble off of the couch to say goodbye. 

It’d only been then, that Seungmin took to noticing the subtler details of his leave under a hyper-fixated lens. The smaller details that had been integrated into his muscle memory so easily that he hadn’t noticed how different life would be without him; waking up 10 minutes earlier so that Minho could take his time in the bathroom, fluffing their pillows justly every night to correspond with their night-time cuddle habits, picking up Minho’s usual coffee order along with his before coming back home from a morning class.

He deserved it. He deserved the brunt of a mistake that couldn’t be corrected, even under the unrealistic possibilities of time reversal for the simple fact that it was a sordid must.

‘Are you feeling any better now?’ 

Thankfully, Seungmin draws out of whatever stupor he’d fallen under the brunt of. One instigated by the feeling of what _used to be_ Minho’s pillow cushioned under one elbow and the swirling contents in his cup of fading, celestial combinations. Wonpil had been sat just across from him but it’d still somehow felt like he’d been drawn into his own, solemn bubble of consciousness.

‘Mhm, headache’s gone.’ Is his simple response. An awkward, reprieved apology for the way his heart had been bared earlier; Seungmin didn’t like showing so much of himself, even if it had been to his only brother.

A brother who he’d held an embarrassing amount of resentment towards when the facets of his biggest insecurities were only instigated because of the way his parents would always compare the two.

When Seungmin scored higher than he’d expected, it was brutally dismissed for Wonpil’s ministry-certified diploma. When Seungmin had taken care of the dishes after a long day out of concern for his busy mother, the attention had still fallen under the fact that he’d forgotten to lock their front door.

All withstanding, Wonpil had been the one to congratulate him for his grades, whether they paled in comparison to his own or not. Wonpil had still been there to thank him and offer him sincere head pats when he’d noticed downturns in his mood.

Even now, all Seungmin can read out of the boy’s expression is a glimmering sorrow. An apology that needn’t be given in the first place.

Seungmin only feels the crowded, amalgamated horror douse his figure in burning darkness even further at the notion that Wonpil had remained perfect enough to care for him when he should’ve been able to look after himself.

‘That’s great!’ Even now, Seungmin can so clearly read the exerted efforts in his brother’s face. Can so clearly feel every facet of his heart, under a splendidly sincere surface.

Once again, Seungmin finds himself at a loss for proper visualization; the implications of having Wonpil move in completely, as he had been alluding to for quite some it, along with the fact that he’d be translating his somber moods over a perfectly prim individual that should’ve never felt obligated to babysit a human adult.

A void to fill the empty spot within every crevice between the closed-in walls of an asphyxiating space. Where time stopped moving at patchy intervals, and the clock struck 12 before any sense could be made of the day that’d just passed and the leaves that’d just fallen and lay strewn over mucky concrete.

‘This space was made for two people, you know?’ Wonpil reaffirms, somewhere following the expanse of time it takes Seungmin to down half of his mug’s whirlpool drizzles. To him, the passage of time could only ever be accounted for the range of changes between then and now.

Predictably so, Wonpil knows Seungmin won’t say anything immediately, so he continues. The statement that followed certainly wasn’t one Seungmin would’ve quite been anticipating for.

‘But I don’t think it’ll be me. Or anyone, really, not when you’ll keep comparing anyone’s presence to that of Minho’s.’

Seungmin bites back a remark; both for the fact that he’d forced anyone and everyone around him to refer to Minho as ‘This apartment’s past residence’, as well as his brother’s oddly straightforward deciphering of his habits – or perhaps, just the most probable response in the case of any broken heart.

Still, he lets him continue, falling under the haze of whirlpools again and imagining the stars detach from the ceramic and into its vertices. Briefly, he even imagines one of the air bubbles on its surface to be a galactic nucleus whose shine could outweigh even the brightest of minds.

‘I found something, and I have a feeling you’ll think I’m crazy for it, but I promise to help cover the costs-,’

‘You don’t have to buy me a roommate, that’s a little overboard.’

‘No, no! Not a person!’ Wonpil quickly explains, waving his hands about for emphasis before swiftly uttering ‘It’s a robot.’

‘Sorry?’ Seungmin is suddenly very thankful that he’d already set his mug on his bedside table, for he’d subconsciously shifted to fisting the soft material of the fluffed pillow under his arms, with both unoccupied hands.

‘Robot, AI, Virtual Friend, you know– Oh, right, context.’ Seungmin’s expression is a mix of disbelief, dismissiveness and a general lack of hilarity that makes Wonpil decide he should likely pull up his references before anything else makes the former less reluctant to letting him stay any longer.

‘Here, look,’ Wonpil just about manages to swoop in to the spot next to Seungmin – where Minho used to sleep – and practically shove his phone into the other’s hand ‘it’s this state-of-the-art robotic assistant, only available overseas! We just got a huge shipment, because we’re supposed to study them for this entire term and conducting a research project by simply introducing one into our homes.’

Seungmin’s eyes quizzically scan the page he’s scrolling down, skimming over its lengthy details and descriptions, along with examples of what a model would look like. By the looks of it, each individual robot differs in appearance, as they all take the shape of a living person – if the living person was shrunk to fit within any pocket.

‘PVA?’

‘Personal Virtual Assistant,’ Wonpil explains, his pointed grin vastly differing the confounding disbelief painting Seungmin’s own visage ‘they’re super expensive, so you’re lucky we have such a large shipment; I could just hand you one of the extras and-,’

‘Hey, woah, wait,’ Seungmin predictably dismisses, hesitantly returning his brother’s phone to him ‘I appreciate this, I really do, but a virtual assistant is overboard, don’t you think?’

‘I really don’t,’ Wonpil admits ‘you remove that barrier formulated by emotional detachment and avoid comparing the likes of a robot that’s been coded and designed to help anyone with emotional or physical impediments.’

‘You sound like a promotional pamphlet.’

‘I don’t care what I sound like, as long as I can get you to consider this,’ Wonpil’s eyebrow’s furrow again, the same depiction of sorrow within his pooled irises ‘I’ll send you their site, it has all the information you’ll need.’

‘Wonpil-,’

‘Just consider it, please.’

••

There’s a brief moment before the blinding coalition of stars and space dust, the process through which any galaxy, in all of their unique idiosyncrasies, are formulated. A brief moment when the dust and the rubble and the celestial lights find one another amongst a vast vacuum and decide that they’d been made to exist within their own, expansive light show.

No, that hadn’t been a notion that Seungmin learned from his textbooks, nor through databases, nor through lectures. It’d been a foretelling from Minho, himself. One that he’d decided upon after another one of Seungmin’s lengthy ramblings about the wonderous galaxies that surrounded them, that made any semblance of earth life seem futile in comparison.

It’s a thought that shuffles past him, that falls under the weight of his newly conditioned hair and slides over it through a zephyr-based landslide. A thought that obstructs him completely while his hands sit within the warm pockets of his old jeans and his eyes feel as if they’ve both hazed out of focus and landed completely still at the very same time, within the very same encompassing moment.

He’s outside of the city’s planetarium.

A theatre show whose lights flung over a crystalized hemisphere, whose colors pooled within Minho’s fascinated irises despite his prior inhibitions.

Minho hadn’t wanted to come with him at first, not when they’d been within their early stages of mutual understanding – as Minho had put it at the time, the stage in their peculiar relationship when they’d been friends but remained too afraid to admit it, and shared bashful smiles and pinked cheeks without the knowledge that it couldn’t be instantaneously gulped down like a passing thought.

But after he relented for far too long to be considered casual, Minho finally agrees, and they join hands at the entrance, muttering silent excuses within themselves to distract from the burning sensation it fueled within their chests; no, it hadn’t been a conscious choice, for they’d only chosen to do so because of the incoherent buzz and the incessant crowding.

Even when Seungmin can remember countless other visits to the very same planetarium, the very first sticks and binds the closest, reigning its unyielding position at the very top of his memories. Particularly, the department concerned with the bittersweet irony of remembering a better time that he, himself, had wasted away.

The weight that his pockets provide do not satisfy the relentless pinching in his chest, within his vessels, reaching the tips of his fingers. They feel barren, they feel abandoned.

Still, he brushes past the planetarium, past the faces of excitable children pointing up at the decorative, glimmers of light covering the expanse of the dome that makes up the main sector of the building.

Seungmin is sure that room is ingrained within his mind, to the point where his daydreams can allow him to lucidly walk and inspect each of its corners, to seat himself within the spot he’d (they’d) usually occupy. To sneak an innocent glance to the side, and smile at first sight of a reflective pair of blazed eyes drawing in every beacon of light within the room that they can spot.

And then he fades away, and so does the room, gradually, until Seungmin opens his eyes and stares back into the blank, black screen of his TV. Sometimes, he feels a sting pricking his eyes, whence he realizes he’d been tearing up amidst his vivid daydreams. Other times, he sits blankly and moves blankly and stares blankly.

It’s morbid, Seungmin’s life. It’s become dull and meaningless and morbid and he thinks he’s truly fallen insane when he reads over the contents of the PVA site’s main informational page for the umpteenth time, like the words will somehow morph into a different stringing of sentences.

The website displays a handful of examples within its expansive options; the robots vary in appearance, build, facial structure, yet none are modeled after real people. It’d felt chilling, somehow, to wonder how a robot could look so life-like despite maintaining an insanely small size.

Still, Seungmin scans the entirety of the website like his life depends on it (it seems like it truly does). He picks at his nails, blinks excessively, and grunts into random corners whenever he gains the courage to put his phone down and mumble that it’d be stupid.

Despite the ferocity of this internal battle, and the fact that his mind yells at him when he picks up the phone, Seungmin does not resort to immediately hanging up while he awaits in putrid silence only briefly disturbed by each _beep_ that sounds out. And then it stops, Seungmin’s eye twitches, and he hears the jovial expression laced within his brother’s answer:

‘Hey Minnie! Made up your mind?’

Unfortunately, he had.

••

There’s a perfect package, positioned primly at the center of his table.

Amidst his overthinking, Seungmin had emptied his usually-cluttered coffee table of its various holdings, and decidedly placed his newly arrived box at its very center, as if the robot would immediately hop out and he had to be extremely sure that it wouldn’t immediately crash to the ground and implode within his very sight.

Ok, yes, Seungmin was overthinking the situation much beyond routine limits, but he felt the notion was completely justified given his _state of mind_.

It’s certainly too late now, he realizes, so what is he waiting for. It had already struck 12, and Seungmin certainly wouldn’t be getting any shut eye when the prospect of an actual robot residing in his living room stayed too prevalent within his cluttered thoughts.

The box is a pristine white, unriddled of fingerprint marks, delivery stamps, ruffled edges. It had, somehow, looked like it’d been manufactured and boxed just before it arrived at his doorstep. Yes, he’d taken a few minutes to answer the door, but he still found it particularly odd that whoever had delivered the package seemed to have left as soon as they’d dropped it off.

Still, he doesn’t allow himself too much time to dwell on the small details, even if they’d been consuming his irrational mind whole. It takes everything in him to peel the cardboard off of its adhesive and finally peek into its contents. The box’s contents are laid out perfectly within their own places within a plastic sheet that takes up the entirety of the box’s space.

There’s a small, navy blue book with crisp white lettering that reads “A beginner’s guide to handling any PVA”. Next to it, is a long, blue cable bunched up to fit into a smaller space. And finally, taking up the most space, is the large, white (seemingly) plastic pod he’d fumbled around the mechanics of during of his many routine visits to the official website. A singular, oval-shaped pod that could easily be cracked open from the top, where his 5-inch tall robot would be held.

He heaves out a shaky breath first, It had to be done from now. Although he’s virtually read up on an extraneous amount of information concerning the robot, including a concerning amount of guide videos and manuals, it certainly couldn’t hurt to _read up on it again_.

As expected, its text does not familiarize him with anything he hadn’t already been aware of, although he momentarily finds a necessary sustenance in its assuredness. It’d been secure and trusted enough for his brother’s university to house batches of them under its heightened roofs and within its astute air. Even Wonpil was currently housing one under his very own roof; of course, it was fine, so why had Seungmin’s hands been trembling so terribly?

Again, for no reason other than overcaution, Seungmin props the pod and the charging cable out of their spot with as much gentle restraint as could be permitted when one was trying to get something done. Once it’s out of his hands, propped up on the table, the box discarded to the side, he heaves out a sigh that reads finality, stretching past him in vague wisps.

Whispering, trembling with him.

Before he could possibly make any more irrational decisions, Seungmin remembers the perfectly printed instructions, pressing down on the pod’s central button for 5 seconds before a resounding ‘beep’ sounds into the air. It’s not loud, by any means, but Seungmin’s amplified senses make it sound like a shrieking chime that infiltrates every little space for calamity clouding them.

Still, he pinches down the wince that threatens to push him away again, and finally, as also instructed, leaves two short, tiny knocks at the pod’s ‘door’.

He waits. According to every guide he’s read upon, one is meant to wait a few mere seconds before the robot is to inevitably pop out and greet its new user. It’s within these few seconds that Seungmin’s panic makes him imagine the most dreadful of possibilities; in the event that the pod suddenly pops open, what if it’s suddenly knocked down, and Seungmin’s very first experience with his new virtual friend ends terribly? What if he’s underestimated the importance of being handed upper-stratum technology, and to be trusted with the care of a highly intelligent android?

Unfortunately, Seungmin does not get the chance to toss out the shaky breath he takes in, at the sound of a small pop. The pod props open, slowly, and then swiftly. A head of pink hair faces him, and within Seungmin’s very own, real eyes, a small figure stands up out of its balled-up figure and blinks up at him, the dulled, purple light within the pod reflective on every crevice of his face.

His face. It looked so…humane.

Of course, Seungmin had been acutely aware of how odd it would feel to face a creature that appeared so humanoid yet could clearly not differ any further from the notion. As the website had listed, his PVA is about 5 inches tall, wears ‘regular human clothing’, and answers to their own, prescribed names.

‘Hi, I’m Felix, your personal virtual assistant.’

It seems Seungmin has been doing nothing but dumbly blinking at the robot before him, barely withstanding to utter a single breath for the mere fact that it had really been speaking to him. It had really been standing, upright, on two seemingly normal feet, and talking to him.

‘You seem distressed, may I check your vitals?’

Seungmin doesn’t know what the right approach is, at this point. Check his vitals? Were the robots readily equipped with a machine to measure a human’s blood pressure or heart rate? What exactly, had he landed himself in, he can only hope it’s not too late to simply shove Felix back into his pod and back outside.

‘Oh, dear, it seems that may have amplified your distress,’ Felix merely continues, his eyes widening brightly before he finally outstretches one hand in offer, sending Seungmin a reassuring grin when he flinches back ‘I could easily scan you for your vital signs, but it seems this wouldn’t be the most appropriate approach, seeing as we’re just getting acquainted. One touch should allow me to read and display your health information.’

‘One touch?’ Seungmin gulps, at least he’s managed to speak this time. Although the rapidly drying coagulation in his throat doesn’t seem to support the notion that this could carry on for much longer.

‘Just the tip of your index finger will do.’ Felix reassures, tone as vibrant as ever.

Despite the fact that Seungmin is ever-cautious of the fact that he’d been openly conversing with a virtual being, he manages to offer his index finger, watching as Felix promptly lays a single hand over it, eyes falling closed momentarily – there’s a hazy glow behind his lids – before finally, Seungmin’s creeping fears dissolve and Felix lets go.

It’d only lasted a few seconds, ending so quickly he hadn’t even received the chance to feel astonished at the fact that Felix’s skin had felt too much like normal keratin structures, for his liking. And seemingly within one of his sporadic blinks, Felix takes to displaying Seungmin’s quick measurements between them, on a floating purple screen. It’s transparent enough for him to see Felix’s still figure behind it, but opaque enough for the message to be clear.

Seungmin’s vitals hadn’t fallen within such a healthy range, to say the least.

‘Your body temperature, pulse rate, and respiration rate all seem to be within a mostly-normal range, save for the few last moments when you’d almost lost your breath. You certainly haven’t caught a fever like I’d worried for, but your blood pressure went acutely high just now, and seems to spike with ur pulse rate very often, based on track history.’

‘Right.’ Seungmin has resorted to tearing his eyes away from both Felix’s ever-staring figure, and the screen he’d still kept displayed. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Felix promptly take the screen down, likely sensing his disdain for its values.

‘I have to ask, why did you purchase my services?’

Again, Seungmin seems to be at a loss for accurate phrasing. Thankfully, Felix is programmed to carry, practically, any conversation he’s presented with.

‘Everyone purchases a PVA with the intent of, perhaps, solving a common issue, easing regular activities, maybe even emulating a human presence–,’

‘There doesn’t have to be a specific reason!’ Seungmin quickly interjects. Although judging from Felix’s lack of bafflement and an expression signaling quick recognition, it seems that he’s already made it too obvious the real reason.

‘Well. I’m sure you’ll find it in you to open up one day!’ Felix reasons, grin expanding when Seungmin’s frown deepens ‘Would you like anything else for now? It’s quite late, but it seems you haven’t eaten for some time. Maybe I could cook for you?’

_Wait, what?_

••

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Oh, but I am,’ Felix very-nearly exclaims ‘I don’t think I’m programmed to lie, deceive, mislead, or direct sarcasm.’ He lists out, looking to be within conflict as to which hand would be better to start counting with.

‘I still can’t bring myself to believe you, _for some reason_.’ Seungmin quips, slumping back down into his chair, jumping when Felix pulls at one of his sleeves, beckoning him to stand back upright.

‘At _least_ , let me show you!’

Seungmin sighs. It seems more like he’s taken up the guidance of a small pet; it’s still odd trying to get accustomed to the fact that his robot seemed to operate like a conscious being rather than a virtual assistant. Somehow, it’d felt more chilling to hear his voice sound out so naturally, rather than housing any sort of automation that would’ve cleared up the nature of his existence.

Still, he gives in to the incessant tugging, awkwardly placing both of his palms down for felix to climb on, where he grips onto his thumb while Seungmin attempts to raise his hand to his head without any possible casualties.

‘Now what?’

Seungmin sits up more properly, taking hold of two tufts of hair between each hand, and pulling at the weak strands, and watching as Seungmin shrieks upon feeling himself lift up against his own willpower.

‘What the hell? You weren’t joking?!’

‘Like I said,’ Although Seungmin is focused on gripping onto his kitchen island like Felix would somehow fling him across the room, he can still hear an irritating smile in the boy’s audible tone ‘I’m not programmed to do so. To an extent.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?!’

‘I’m not actually moving ur limbs with your hair,’ As he says this, he pulls to the side again, chuckling when Seungmin yelps at the sudden motion ‘when I read into you, I also retrieved the useful information concerning your watch history. Ratatouille, three times, in one month?’

‘You can see my watch history?’ Seungmin doesn’t even get the chance to let the information sink in before he’s flung to the side again, one hand involuntarily grabbing a pan from where it’d been clumsily piled over a few other, scratchy ones ‘Shouldn’t you have elected to mention that before?’

‘It wasn’t on purpose, I do apologize.’ As he says this, Felix yanks Seungmin to the side again and swiftly turns the stove’s left burner on ‘sometimes more information piles onto us based on how easily we can read into someone.’

That certainly did not help to ease Seungmin’s worries.

‘That’s also how I was able to see that you likely haven’t eaten much today. Either that, or you’ve barely consumed anything of nutritional value.’

Seungmin remembers the bag of hot Cheetos he’d consumed around 7am, when he reluctantly shot out of bed. ‘Not true.’

‘I can also sense when you’re lying.’

Seungmin’s eyebrows furrow, his head spinning with every movement his body made out of any resolve that could’ve remained within him. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be helping?’

‘I am!’ Felix swiftly corresponds, somehow locating Seungmin’s one, wooden chopping board faster than _he_ probably could.

‘Are you sure you want to try chopping? Isn’t that way too risky?’ Seungmin winces when Felix attempts to reach for one of his bigger knifes.

‘Don’t worry about it! Us robots are programmed to adapt to all proper knife techniques and the vitalization of the perfect meal.’ Somehow, this does alleviate some edge off of his tiresome heart, and Felix promptly continues upon feeling Seungmin’s heart rate fall back under a steady state.

And so, the sequence commences, and although Seungmin has his eyes shut for a good chunk of the time, his curiosity often tempts him to peek through his curtained eyes into what filled the air with its marvelous, flavorful descent and a grandiose placidity that had, for the first time in a month, brought life back into his little space.

All because his robot had opted to use his body as a vessel through which its mechanisms could be utilized for efficient use; a rare occurrence. Seungmin feels his inhibitions drowned out by the stench of heart-ridden cuisine and an intense pungency of springing aromas. It sneaks within the creaks of his senses and weasels through them so seamlessly that Seungmin forgets he’s been conducting seemingly impossible – at least, when it came to him – knife movements and intensively multi-tasking.

And when the aromas finally join forces with his taste modules, two senses finding color within themselves when for too long now, all they’d be faced with were bleak grays – a mid-point, between total darkness and the peaceable blanks.

Felix looks on satisfactorily, patting himself on the back for playing a good Remy while he felt obligated to.

Seungmin had been so intent on memorizing every marked flavor ultimately encompassing all of his rundown tumults.

He completely forgets to ask how Felix had garnered control over his body, so seamlessly.

••

‘Sometimes I wish the room stayed like this,’ Minho admits, stretching out his limbs, murmuring benevolence floating away from the glowing display traced over the large dome overhead, and down within their embraces.

‘What do you mean?’ Seungmin’s voice is just airy, despite his evident confusion, for the artificial stars surrounding their aerial view catches one’s attention quicker than idiosyncratic phrases.

‘Like this, when the displays are still glowing, when it’s just us because no one in their right mind decides to show up before your weird, scheduled times.’ Despite his words, Minho’s tone holds so much blazing obstinacy that Seungmin starts to think he might’ve dimmed the lighting after holding its shine within his own embrace.

‘Clearly, you don’t think they’re so weird if the idea of us being the only one’s here excites you so much.’ Seungmin mumbles, barely wavering when Minho attempts to direct a hiss his way.

‘I never said it excited me. The quiet is nice.’

‘And so is my presence, right?’

‘Shut up.’ Minho sits upright now, tearing his eyes away from the tantalizing display, having savored enough of its zeal. Instead, they turn to another possible source that was sure to block out prior benightments. Seungmin, whose eyes remain half-curtained, whose integrity and pride and joviality is proudly displayed through every trace of his vivid expressions.

Minho had, despite his inhibitions, always wanted to ask Seungmin to be his muse for a painting. Doodles or sketches from memory never brought justice to his raw, smoldering temperaments.

All of his eccentrics had been made up of little marks, through which every fissure burned with the fire of stardust and abated with the chill of moonstone. And Minho had wanted nothing other than to observe every single facet under a microscopic stare and a dip of his favorite brushes.

The only issue was that neither of the pair were willing enough to overthrow their stubbornness to admit that the strings binding their figures in alight darkness continued to grow stronger, coiling around their fingers and holding them closer.

Closer, closer, and closer, until Seungmin cannot contain his curiosity any longer and he too, turns his head Minho’s direction. There’s a brief exchange of wonderment, starlight gaping into moonlight, pushing counteracting pulling, torchlight against shadowy cave walls.

Seungmin can feel Minho’s heavy breathing against the skin of his cheek, and watery paint floats within each unmarked crevice. With every flutter of his eyelashes, there’s a ring of velvety petals padding against the skin under his eyes, over his cheeks, grazing his lips. Minho’s edged impossibly close, it feels as if all that sits between them is the last remnants of denial and ignorance; the benight ignorance that forces searching for a reason and those building off of pre-conceived motives could not join, could live without one another.

Minho’s lips are on Seungmin’s before their strings get the chance to detach.

••

Seungmin shoots upright, gasping and searching for spaces of air to inhale, as if he’d been amidst nearly drowning within a suffocating surfeit of smoldering seawater.

But he hadn’t, he notes, he’d just felt an uncomfortable amount of sweat pooling into the back of his neck, around his chest, and over his palms. It’s only once he’s finally gotten a sufficient amount of oxygen for the rush in his head and the soreness over his heart, that he remembers what’d obstructed him with so much force that he felt he couldn’t remain unconscious any longer.

‘Are you alright?’

Seungmin almost jumps to the side again, gripping onto a pillow ferociously as the first measure of desperation. Felix, who’d been standing on one of Minho’s pillows, stares back at him passively.

‘Ah, I’m not used to that. I’m fine, yeah. Bad dream.’

‘Oh, it seemed terrible,’ Felix tuts, recalling the sight that’d been faced before him, moments ago ‘I felt it was necessary to awake you. I was in my pod, of course, but I sensed a long string of distress signals from your end. I hope you understand, it was too strong to ignore.’

‘It’s fine,’ Seungmin’s eyebrows furrow. When had the simple remembrance of a ghostly figure from his past, become so horrific to recall?

‘Would you like for me to assess it myself? You would not be obligated to retell its events; I could simply retrieve it myself.’

‘Retrieve it yourself?’ Seungmin frowns ‘How would that work?’

‘One pressure point on ur temple. It’s difficult to explain, but as it’s still fresh within your mind, even if unbeknownst to your consciousness at the moment, I would be able to ascertain the threat level.’ Felix is concise and quick, barely blinking between his words. Then again, despite the PVA designers’ attempts at adapting their model through concise realism, they’d still been robots, at the end of the day.

‘Threat level? Look, it wasn’t that bad, it was just,’ Seungmin stutters over a lack for efficient diction ‘a memory.’

‘Oh. Could it be induced by trauma?’ Felix presses, seeming intent on pursuing his mission – then again, it made up the totality of his purpose and existence.

‘Sort of.’ Seungmin grapples past the truth, hoping there’d be no need for his unwieldy mistakes to be unveiled so early on.

‘A past partner.’

Before anything could be uttered past Seungmin’s wide, astonished eyes and heavily blinking heart beats, Felix quickly interjects again, hands flailing with his defense.

‘I didn’t mean to; I really do not intend to invade past your area of comfort. It sort of just presented itself to me, like earlier. You’re very…,’

‘Easy to read.’ Seungmin answers for him, throwing his head back against his pillow, eyes staring back at the ceiling under a blank filter. Maybe then it wouldn’t be _so easy_ to infiltrate his character.

It’s only then that he realizes Felix had turned on his star-speckled nightlight. A ball of light with stars for craters.

‘That’s not a bad thing, you know?’ Felix attempts, jumping down and gazing up at his client through such sincerity he almost regrets purchasing an associate that’d appeared so authentic; that is, outside of his mind-reading, grief-scanning abilities.

‘A broken heart is one that’s hardest to shield, anyways. A tattered shell cannot find where to join its pieces without guidance and time.’ Felix continues, bestowing the knowledge of a wise, old man. Seungmin begins to wonder if that’s what type of person programmed these robots.

‘How many anecdotes have they programed into you?’

‘You cannot distract me from this conversation.’ Felix reminds, settling down like he’d been ready to enthrall Seungmin within a midnight (yes, it’d surely been past 3am) symposium. He’d certainly been through with those following the regretful decision to take up a modern philosophy course last term.

‘Regretfully so,’ Seungmin grumbles, the flickering flame of his starlight bleeding into his forlorn gaze ‘my only talent remains in evading conversation.’

‘That’s not true at all. I had the chance to explore your workspace before retreating into my pod; there’s certainly too many jargons within your textbooks for even my processing unit to understand. Plus, you seem to have a fascination with housing plants, which I presume isn’t the simplest of hobbies; taking care of another life form through continual care.’

Seungmin seems too baffled to say anything for the first few moments, but Felix’s adequate smile seems to have already interpreted his gratitude for what it sincerely was.

‘Thank you. I didn’t know my day-to-day activities could be perceived like that. Plus, it’s funny you should mention the plants, because Min–,’ Seungmin’s smile fades as quick as it’d appeared.

‘Never mind,’ He finishes ‘I think I’ll go back to sleep now.’

Felix doesn’t say anything as Seungmin turns to switch his nightlight off, lifting his sheets over his head. The air remains silent until there’s a short mutter:

‘You have a beautiful smile, Seungmin.’

And then Felix is back in his pod.

••

Seungmin can’t recall how long it’s been since his life has managed to obtain semblances of normalcy, it’s almost a pain to hear his brother attempt to completely abstain from uttering ‘I told you so.’

No word from his mother, although he presumes she’s fallen under the impression that he’s already skyrocketed downwards past another spiraling whirlpool of doom. Thankfully, he’d just been regularly cooking with his eyes shut, finding his laundry clean within minutes thanks to Felix’s odd ‘washing machine’ function – it’d been quite terrifying to witness the first time, albeit, Seungmin doesn’t see many lifelike robots expelling water and detergent from their arms, followed by hills of air ejected from their mouths.

It got the job done.

Yes, Seungmin had somehow simultaneously retrieved normalcy and lunacy back into his life, concepts that commonly coexisted before everything within his life drew to a standstill. He could only depict in gratitude for the fact that it was summertime and university didn’t have to pile onto the major delay his breakup had established.

Felix’s functions had also served extremely handy in relaying the day’s schedule from the morning, displaying a list for Seungmin to freely make altercations if he so wishes to. Often times, Felix will sneak things like ‘call your brother’, ‘check up on your friends’, ‘start reading a book you’ve had on the shelf, collecting dust, for a year’. Seungmin guesses it’s his way of ensuring their days did not dull and amalgamate into one another, as it always had before.

Still, Felix seems intent on finding time to produce a therapeutic release rather than one that formed a temporary fix to his physical offenses. Seungmin had been so intent on ignoring his heart’s sporadic woes that he’d forgotten what it meant to acknowledge his feelings after one peer led to a full-fledged breakdown in front of Wonpil, of all people.

Ah yes, Felix had known of Wonpil. He’d even spoken to his PVA through facetime; certainly more than a little peculiar to witness:

‘Oh, my name is Felix! I’ve only been with Seungmin for about a week.’

‘Jeongin! Honestly, it feels like Wonpil is a little too perfect for my specific needs, I don’t have much to do here other than sometimes watch over Daisy, his dog, and answer queries for his research project.’

‘Wow! I can’t really say the same for Seungmin, he’s–,’

Around that point into their conversation, Seungmin had already plugged his earphones in, ensuring that Felix could hear his music from their weak speakers.

All of the gradual progress had eventually amassed into Felix’s next stages within his grandiose plan: Get over Lee Minho, once and for all.

And it begun…here?

‘Why am I here.’ Seungmin states, a confounding presence pressing over his shoulders, as if peering into him from either side.

He didn’t like this part of the house.

‘You’ve never shown me this room. It became obvious, quite quickly, the reason why.’ Felix is stood just in front of Seungmin, who’s seated against a desk made of applewood he hasn’t grazed for an ample amount of time.

‘Seungmin.’ Felix interjects ‘You and Minho didn’t share a room, did you? This was his room, wasn’t it?’

‘I’m sure I don’t have to answer.’ Seungmin rolls his eyes, having grown accustomed to the gentle prying, tearing his eyes away from the tipping plant sitting just behind Felix.

He’d noticed.

‘Was this his?’ He continues, looking back at the plant and its towering structure, barely kept up by the wide ceramic pot it’s been situated in. It sunk significantly lower than the last time Seungmin had drawn his eyes over it.

Seungmin doesn’t answer.

‘Ah, I see,’ Felix had just barely been able to reach up for one of its downturned leaves. One graze, and the leaves draw back, closing in on themselves, as if asking that they are not touched ‘just as I suspected. Mimosa pudica, more commonly referred to as the _shameplant_. I’ll go ahead and assume that you haven’t been watering it since you haven’t had the will to come in here, yes?’

Seungmin doesn’t answer.

‘Seungmin, it’s important you don’t form abrasive relationships with objects or places that remind you too much of a hurtful figure.’

‘It was ours,’ Seungmin corrects ‘it wasn’t his, it was ours. Minho took all of _his_ things; he didn’t take anything that could’ve reminded him of me.’

‘And that wouldn’t have been right of him, would it?’

Seungmin’s unable to keep quiet any longer. ‘He was heartbroken and infuriated and torn down. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t seem like the right thing to you, because he did what he had to in order to keep himself afloat. Why the hell would he want to remember me? _Me_ , the idiot that threw away the one good thing in my bland life?’

Felix doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze tears away and he spurts some water into the soil. Seungmin watches as it readily sinks in, gripping within every touch with so much swift veracity he almost feels bad for electing to leave it starving and drab.

‘You should keep this outside.’ Is all he says.

Seungmin feels the familiar forthcomings of a migraine. This “moving on” concept had felt impossibly far from his grasps, now that he’d tasted a sliver of the road to recovery.

••

Phase 2 came hurtling at him in the form of more Minho-laced possessions; the little knickknacks he’d left behind, the ones that evoked all traces of him, and only him.

Unfortunately, Felix had been too good at detecting which items instilled both comfort and scorn within Seungmin’s flurrying emotions. There’d been exactly 3, apart from their shameplant, and Felix had lined them up on Seungmin’s bed, awaiting some sort of high strung monologue Seungmin was certainly not ready to offer.

‘This is ridiculous.’ Seungmin argues, crossing his arms over his chest in dismal prominence.

Just as he usually does, Felix dismisses Seungmin’s words before carrying on. ‘This is the only clothing item of his you still have left.’ He motions to the bulky, wool sweater to their far right, along with a pair of knitting needles situated just next to it.

‘There must be a tarriance within your mind that finds it difficult to separate itself from this sweater. That prohibits you from moving on soundly when it might remind you of a particular event, or the perfect picture of his smaller body snug within such a large item of clothing’

‘You’re reciting this way too specifically,’ Seungmin raises a curious brow ‘Are you sure you’re not purposefully trying to press a certain narrative over me?’

‘if you don’t believe it’ll be too bad, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to unlock its clear hold on you.’ Felix reasons, tugging at the sweater’s sleeve and holding it up for Seungmin to take ‘Please, Seungmin. Remember, for me.’

Seungmin hesitates, but his hand manages to grab hold of the material, wounding its soft wool around his fingers, feeling for its familiar touch.

He remembers.

It’s within the first few droppings of orange leaves that Seungmin begins to feel like Autumn had finally arrived, breathing its air within scorching pavement and leaving its dewy filter over every facet of life surrounding his days.

There’s a distinct moment he remembers before watching the door to his room prop open, cutting past the ring of silence ensued. The moment he catches sight of the swift frolic of leaves against prowling wind from his window, blotches of sunlight seeping into them and painting them with keen effervescence.

It feels almost systemic that Minho is at the door the same second Seungmin’s eyes begin to memorize the image before him through a burning gape.

‘Hey, I seem to have come across an issue.’ Is all he says.

Despite the statement remaining incredibly vague, Seungmin still motions him over, pushing his books to the side in order to focus all of his attention elsewhere. Expectedly, Minho bounds to him quickly, hands smoldered with the material of his large sweater, either arm crossed over his torso completely.

‘What’s wrong with your sweater?’ Seungmin tilts his head, attempting to peer past Minho’s shielding arms. Thankfully, when he does reach over to unbind them, Minho relents quite easily, tracing his hands over Seungmin’s while he assesses the “damage”.

And, oh, a damage it had certainly been.

Somehow, an entire area of wool, just beneath his chest, had been unfurled, exposing patches of skin. He supposes they could’ve made other tears around the sweater to make it appear natural, but there’s an unfortunate mound of disapproval in his chest that drives him to repair the frayed threads.

‘I’ll get my knitting needles.’ He decisively murmurs, nearly jumping out of his seat when Minho leans almost all of his weight down, over him and his terribly squeaky desk chair. Still, the hug feels much more rewarding than anything else, especially as tufts of Minho’s hair brushes against his skin, and his nose briefly lifts up one corner of his glasses from where he’d begun leaving trailing pecks from the dip of his collarbone to his jaw.

Yes, that’d certainly been a reward to remember.

He keeps that within the forefront of his thoughts while diligently threading his needle in and over patches of purple wool, his back hunched over Minho’s figure while he silently waited with bated breath.

For obvious reasons, or at least Seungmin would’ve hoped it’d be obvious, he’d asked that Minho peel the sweater off for his own convenience, leaving him with the promise of getting it done quickly. He should’ve known, however, that Minho wouldn’t be having any of that, and would instead plop over his bed sheets, asking that he just ‘work on top of’ him.

Seungmin had dismissed the notion with red cheeks and a ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Instead, things seemed to have only ran a different course for the fact that Minho was dangerously good at directing sincere pouts, glossy eyes, and promises for imminent cuddles.

In other words, it was impossible to deny Lee Minho of anything he wanted, anything he asked for.

‘Stop staring,’ Seungmin practically begs, even if his tone attempts to be uttered seriously ‘It’s distracting.’

‘I’m barely touching you,’ Minho reminds. Although they’d practically been flush against one another, Seungmin’s legs kneading into either side of Minho’s waist, the latter chose to keep his hands away ‘if my eyes are that distracting, you must be _really, thoroughly_ in love with me.’

Seungmin scoffs, raising a hand to peel his glasses off, seeing as it had become frustrating trying to keep the frames up. Strands that’d previously been upheld by their presence fall over, draping down and somehow providing Minho with a better view of his unrivaled bashfulness.

‘Maybe the sweater can wait, yeah?’

••

Seungmin gasps, grasping for something to grip onto, despite the fact that he’d been sat upright. He looks down. Felix stands in front of him, and his legs are crossed over in front of him. Minho isn’t there.

‘Good job.’ Felix tilts his head down, his eyes never leaving his ‘Your memory was more distinct and clearer than I could’ve imagined.’

‘Memory,’ Seungmin repeats, a haze falling over his senses ‘that felt so vivid, so real.’

‘It was supposed to,’ Felix reassures, swiftly dropping the sweater back to the side before redirecting Seungmin’s attention to another item. It’d been a small, circular, wooden table top. In an alternate reality, it could’ve actually been used to construct a table, like it was meant to ‘so while you’re on a streak, we must open the barrier the other items seem to have over you.’

‘You sound so dramatic,’ Seungmin exasperates, feeling for the sweat behind his heavy bangs ‘can’t we call it a day.’

‘Seungmin. You must,’ Felix’s eyes fall under a certain glow, casting radial waves past his small figure, only just starting to cloud Seungmin’s senses again ‘remember.’

And then, Seungmin’s out again.

The vision begins hazy at first, increments gradually building up the clearer the memory becomes. The same tree that’d held vivid greenery had long since becomes victim to piles of snow, falling under the tyranny of brittle frost. This time, however, he’s more focused than ever to keep a still gaze at the window.

‘You know you can blink, right?’ Minho snorts, watching his boyfriend struggle to evade the enticing action of allowing his lids to flutter shut.

‘I know, I just thought it would be better if I tried not to.’

‘No, you actually might be right. I think my painting could yield so much more emotion if you were to cry in it.’

Seungmin sighs, giving into the fact that he’d likely begin feeling the burn within his eyes translate into embarrassing, salty streaks of pride-induced motivation.

‘Besides, I really am almost done this time.’ Minho reassures, dotting soft streaks over his established base assiduously and through swift, proficient motions.

Minho had, around 40 minutes ago, decided that Seungmin had looked so incredibly timeless, boring his eyes through their window, and melding the shine within his own eyes with that of the outside’s otherworldly presence.

‘I have to draw you like this.’ He’d decided, and just as quickly as the decision had been made, he rushed to retrieve the nearest object to prop his sketchbook paper over. This just so happened to be one of their, currently deconstructed living room tables’ many parts. A relatively small, circular wooden template, for Minho to settle over Seungmin’s bed, along with his paper, paints, and a ridiculous amount of zeal.

40 minutes had been remarkably fast for a painting he’d been muttering his excitement for throughout the duration of its molding. 40 minutes of small readjustments in the form of gentle grazes to lift his chin up, eye-level gaping to ensure his glower held the exact amount of remorse and desire as was required.

And although the process had been more than a little fun to endure the brunt of, Seungmin practically sprints out of his seat when Minho declares that he’s finished.

‘Wait, wait! Impatient puppy,’ Minho holds the drawing up, even if it doesn’t do much and Seungmin is much too tall for the tactic to ever work ‘sit down and close your eyes, I want to hand you something first.’

The words are accompanied by a swift roll of his eyes, but nonetheless, Seungmin follows diligently, plopping down across from Minho. Even with his eyes wound shut, there’s a lingering warmth, familiar traces of caramel and winter joviality. They make it clear that Minho’s presence is close, his bypass of pent-up affections even closer. Just like their shy strings, they only draw tighter and shorter with the inevitable passage of time and effort.

‘What’s the-,’

As expected, Seungmin does not retrieve the chance to finish his confounding query before he feels a press of soft lips over his own, a pair of hands settling on either side of his jaw. Whether through conscious means or not, while Minho draws an agonizingly slow, slanted dip over Seungmin’s _everything_ , his thumb grazes just under his bottom lip under the same, alluring drawl.

Everything Minho did, he did with fervor, with time, with effort. Every touch he laid over his warm skin was slow, yet all encompassing. Every kiss laden with intent and progressive desire. Every moment stretched over a series of seconds, all of which attached to a specific image, a presence, that imprints itself within a special node in Seungmin’s mind.

One that has not been neglected, even till now.

••

Seungmin cannot quite remember waking up.

That was the central issue; the dreams had followed with a heavy daze-inducing migraine, and then a stretch of days that melded into one another so closely that it could’ve been mistaken for another bad dream.

Bad, like the mares one would find themselves fearful of facing within the quiet hours of the night. Not bad, as the ones that drew his focus back over Minho’s beams, over his gentle movements, over his soft phrasings, over anything and everything that brought him back to the beginning, erasing any and all progress that could’ve uplifted him.

It had all been erased, surely, for why else would he awaken to the familiar scent of fresh paint and lilies. Why else would his eyes peer back into the layers of stars laid out in front of him in their specific alignments, just as they’d always attached themselves within his remembrances.

The planetarium. Seungmin _certainly_ does not recall coming here.

There’s a ringing that lingers over one ear, reverberating over the walls of the large room in blue, lethargic waves. They pool into the air around him, wrapping its slender encirclement over his constricted figure.

Why couldn’t he…move?

The planetarium is empty. The large screen ahead displays nothing but a reflective black, and Seungmin cannot move.

Under an initial haze, he barely registers the veracity of the situation, only beginning to struggle and shout for help once the realization finally sinks in, and the binding encirclement glows brighter and brighter, its galactic rays nearly blinding him.

The screen finally shrieks to life, and he stills.

 _‘It’s Minho!’_ He realizes, with an oddly comforting intonation.

Minho, behind Changbin’s apartment door – yes, he’d traced that familiar, evergreen door within his mind succinctly -, adorned in an oversized shirt and scraggly hair. His eyes attempt to form a threatening stare, but there’s lingers of something else that almost holds him back from completely appearing to be furious.

Then, he makes an attempt at closing the door, until the person supposedly behind the camera draws it back open.

He cannot hear them, despite their persistent arguing. It’s as if their voices have been obstructed by a heavy filter, consuming the life within their phrases.

Seungmin watches, eyes wide, voice thin, while Minho finally gives in, allowing the person in, deliberating within himself, and then launching himself to their almost immobile figure. Wrapping his arms around them so closely and wringing his heavy breath so snuggly against theirs that it appears too familiar for his watery gaze to tear away from.

It couldn’t have been, it couldn’t have been.

Finally, before the finality of clashing horror can thwart his hopes further, the filter lifts. Seungmin hears Minho’s voice as clear as running water.

_‘I missed you, Minnie. I missed you so much.’_

And he remembers.

He remembers it all.

* * *

**ENTRY 1:**

I’m writing this down just to be safe.

Felix has been freaking me out more and more these days.

After the incident with the memories, watching him so intent, so ruthless, and then pretending like it’d been a light exercise mere moments after…

I still feel light headed,

••

**ENTRY 3:**

It’s becoming harder and harder to hand Felix the benefit of the doubt,

I could’ve sworn I asked him to put ‘contact Changbin’ within my regiment today, but he kept dismissing it.

Guess I’m staying home today. Felix did say he was making pasta for dinner, so there’s that to look forward to.

••

**ENTRY 7:**

This isn’t right.

I can’t explain it, but there’s this unfathomable doom that obstructs me every night. I wake up, sweaty, breath heavy, and Felix’s pod remains glowing and prominent within the darkness.

But something feels wrong.

I don’t think he’s actually in there at night.

••

**ENTRY 12:**

No, no, no.

The sweater

It’s ripped to shreds.

It’s fucking ruined. It’s gone, it’s gone.. Felix? It had to have been Felix

I want him gone; I can’t take this anymore

••

**ENTRY 14:**

I think he knows what I’ve been planning.

For now, I’m trying my best to act complicit, even when he clearly canceled my meetup with Wonpil today.

I’m shutting him down, once and for all. After all, he’s just a robot, isn’t he? I’m not powerless against a small robot.

••

**ENTRY 15:**

The subject has been eradicated.

Body swap successful.

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi ! i hope you enjoyed, dear reader :D  
> i've spent a lot of time mulling over whether this would be the best way to bring this story to its end, and whether it would need to be built or structured differently, but i think it came along nicely with my preferred impact !  
> i've definitely fallen for the possibilities this university creates SO i'll likley return to this soon in order to add smaller scenarios, whether from the past, present, or future within the timeline, which is why this is part of a series !  
> as always, comments and kudos are highly appreciated and so was your time so thank you very much <3  
> have a wonderful day/night lovelies !!


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